


Easy

by ChecktheHolonet



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Light Bondage, Smut, sub!Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9508970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChecktheHolonet/pseuds/ChecktheHolonet
Summary: She'll come back, he tells himself, the same way he always does.It's enough.Or...for Kylo Ren, the ends justify the means.





	

She’ll deny it to her grave, but the truth remains, unvarnished: she likes it when he struggles, likes to see violence barely restrained in fathomless eyes that narrow and flicker as she moves against him. Likes it when she locks the special collar around his neck, likes the deep, plaintive moan that escapes his parted lips as his Force-signature dampens. As his power wanes. She licks her lips, eyes flashing.

  
On the bed, Kylo shifts, muscles in restless motion, biceps bulging, fighting against simple metal restraints he can no longer control with the Force, though he tries anyway with unchecked vigor. He agrees to this, their little game, every time without complaint, but it doesn’t stop him from struggling, from wanting more than he can ever have. She laughs, low and dirty, as he groans in frustration, hips bucking of their own volition, reddened cock leaking madly onto a taut, pale stomach, every sleek, sculpted line of muscle on exquisite display.

  
“How does it feel?” she whispers up against his ear, tongue snaking out to play with the lobe, to taste the shivers that race unchecked along flushed skin. She scratches a nail over an erect nipple, relishing the whimper he chokes back in his throat, and whispers his name again, dirty words and phrases designed to make him hard. Make him beg.

  
“Don’t. TALK,” he hisses, practically spitting in her face, head tossed sharply to the side when she leans forward to kiss him, to run eager lips along the line of his temple. Pulling back abruptly, she holds her breath, stunned at the venom in his voice, at the pain she feels beneath it.

  
Her bravado evaporates when he moans, low and broken, tugging fruitlessly at his bonds. It’s been months, months since she first came to him, chastened, but he still wants the same thing. Though she cannot–will not–give it, he continues to ask, Sisyphus forever doomed to push the heavy rock. She aches when he closes his eyes, when his lips press tightly together to lock her out and his fingers curl in on themselves instead of weaving with hers.

  
It is always like this, need and lust masquerading as something deeper, attachment’s specter looming ever-closer. She controls his body to subdue his heart, but today the battle is especially fierce. When his body finally wins, when he relinquishes control, he begins thrusting his hips upward, seeking friction, hungry for release, consequences be damned, pleading words falling like tears from his trembling lips. She wilts, pressing down into his warm chest, dragging nails across his ribs as he squirms to try to enter her.

  
“Easy,” she whispers desperately, even as he cries out, resistance growing stronger, fighting his ties with every muscle working overdrive. “Easy, love,” she whispers again. He chokes back a cry, gasping her name. Pleading. Eyes burning, she looks away, burying her teeth in her swollen lips. She cannot deny him; will not deny herself. Another surge of motion, a groan tumbling from his throat, and she finally feels him hot and hard inside. She sighs, feeling the pleasure surge sweet and hot, and dusts a kiss across his brow. “That’s it, love” she coaxes him as he sets up a frantic, forceful rhythm, “that’s it.”

  
“Don’t call me that,” he answers tightly, “until you mean it.”

  
Her movement falters. Her heart freezes.

  
He blinks, holding her stare, and she makes to rise, to move away. He jerks spasmodically against his restraints, so strong the metal of her headboard starts to bow. She presses a hand to his chest, ready to let him down easy, to sever this bond that’s brought nothing but heartache and terrible confusion.

  
“Kylo–”

  
“–Don’t stop,” he begs, swallows hard, huffs a shallow, tremulous breath, “I’m sorry…I won't…” _Bargaining_. She can feel his panic rise even through the collar, his abject fear that she might leave. Might never come back. Compassion, quick and ruthless, slides up her spine, clutching her heart in a punishing grip. She softens, just for a moment, weakness unchecked.

  
She leans forward, pressing kisses to the narrow trail of hair that leads to his glistening cock, half-hard now from his panicked outburst. Sealing her lips around the head, she sucks slowly, leisurely, until she feels the shaft fill again, until he groans, hips jutting upward, and says her name on a broken sigh. In one smooth movement, she mounts him, taking him all the way inside, and begins to roll her hips. Beneath her, Kylo moans, sweat gathering at his temples, eyes wide and adoring as he watches her move.

  
He thrusts harder, commanding her attention, his wild eyes locked with hers. Hip muscles tensing, he works his core in the way she loves, trying to make it good for her, to be better, desire barely tamed with the push and pull of their bodies, with the sweat that mingles and lingers over shadowed hollows and barren lines.

  
When she comes, it is devastating, rendering her weak, her fingers faltering as they work to release his bonds. He follows, her name on her lips as he cries out, jerks, comes. She knows what comes next, knows what flows in as the fight drains out of him. She cannot bear the tender words and worried kisses that slide so gently over her neck, her breasts. Cannot endure the promises he makes, the quiet words of adoration. The worlds he builds inside her mind’s eye. She likes it better when it’s easy, when it’s sex and lust and conflagration, when he doesn’t look at her like she’s something to be lost. Trembling, she removes his collar, flinching as the full weight of his emotions barrel into her chest, that singular force she knows but dares not name.

  
“Please,” he breathes into her ear, warm arms wrapping tightly around her waist, “sweetheart, please…”

  
She stifles his words with kisses, turning intention into memory until she finally falls asleep. Beside her, arms cradling her close, Kylo strokes careful patterns down her spine with his fingertips. He hardly dares to breathe. This. This is why he suffers the indignation of the collar, the restraints, the rough and wild copulation that’s barely more than an animal’s rut. The naked, unfettered humiliation of his entreating words, his pathetic desires. Because at the end, for a few brief moments, she allows him to hold her. To guard her as she tumbles through dreams. To press quiet kisses to the nape of her neck; to feel the warm wash of her breath against his throat. To feed the desperate, longing fires of his own imagination, no matter how futile those thoughts may be.

  
But now, as usual, he’s lingered too long; he cannot be here when she wakes. The strange spell between them will wear off, as it always does, and they’ll go back to fighting on disparate sides of an insurmountable chasm.

  
_She’ll come back_ , he tells himself, the same way he always does. _It’s enough_. The shrieking voices in the deepest, darkest parts of his aching, bleeding heart name him liar. He steals one more kiss before placing shaking feet on the floor. He tucks the blankets tenderly against her body, ignoring the peace in her face, the way her lashes lay softly against her cheek, the rose-tint in her lips that he knows he put there. Could bring back in a heartbeat if he so chose.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps into his discarded robes, fabric cold and abrasive against hyper-sensitive skin, and walks away on soundless feet.

He always makes it easy.

Always.  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: @checktheholonet


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